


Born Under a Bad Sign

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Cass Has Got it Bad, Jesse Ain't Much Better, Language, M/M, Most Warnings that Apply to Cass tbh, Pining, Post episode 2, lord help these losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, would you lookit that!"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You're an Aries, ay? Accordin' to this here article, we're compatible."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born Under a Bad Sign

_Hard luck and trouble_

_Been my only friend_

_\- Albert King_

_* * * *_

Bad luck seemed to follow Cassidy wherever he went, but for once, in this dot on the map called Annville, it appeared to be waiting for him to arrive.

Wasn't there a day before he got saddled with a sentence - and a mostly unearned one, at that.

As soon as they released him from the slammer, Cassidy got directions to that rundown ole church, to "repent for his sinful ways" when the suspicious copper asked. Truth be told, it was to locate that interesting cellmate of his. The ass-kickin' preacher was probably the only novelty this backwoods town had to offer, and if Cassidy was to entertain himself for the remainder of his exile, Jesse Custer was his best bet.

The unconventional holy man did not disappoint. With an uncanny penchant for catching a 119-year-old vampire unawares, Cassidy found him on the floor of the church, unconscious, lookin' like he'd gone a round with the decor and lost.

"Stint in the big house too much for you, padre? Have yourself a bender? Oi!" Cassidy whistled, giving the preacher a hard nudge with his boot when his prodding went unanswered.

He knelt down, slapping the man's cheek. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" 

Cassidy pulled a face, letting his hand linger, the heat seeping through his palm. His average temperature was well below that of a human's, but even accounting for that, the preacher's skin was noticeably warm, burning like vampire flesh in the sun.

Then again, the whole church felt stuffier than Satan's armpit. How people could worship here was anyone's guess - the lengths Christians would go to feel wholesome and clean.

Fever or no, nothing he tried could wake Sleeping Beauty from his slumber. And Cassidy tried pretty much everything except pricking him a spinning wheel. Although, speaking o' fairytale clichés, that did bring another remedy to mind.

"Hmm, I wonder." Having nothing to lose, and with nobody to stop him, well...

"Last resort in a dire situation, you understand," Cassidy explained far too shamelessly. "Pucker up, princess."

He pressed his mouth against that split lip, tasted sweat and blood, and beneath that, something bitter and electric. He pulled away after a few seconds, eyeing the passive face below his with consternation.

"Touch anticlimactic, ain't it?" he sighed, resigned. "Damn Disney films, raisin' expectations of hopeful lil' gits everywhere..."

With a grunt, Cassidy hoisted the uncooperative body off the floor, the man's limbs spilling every which way. Cumbersome coma prick, no help whatsoever.

"Guess we'll just tuck you into bed, handle this the old-fashioned way." Even though a grown man's weight was peanuts pitted against his inhuman strength, he was _still_ sweating bullets. "And do something about that friggin' air conditioner, yeesh."

*

*

*

*

Cassidy's real granny had been a superstitious old witch, always raving on the importance and relevance of the universe's grand scheme; but her beliefs, however voiciferous, had simply not  transferred to the next generations.

As such, he didn't put much stock in Fate or the like, preferring to put his faith in a neglectful, unassuming God just flying by the seam of his pants in lieu of a by-the-book law enforcer.

Though it did seem quite coincidental that the first bloke with which he made acquaintance in this backwoods hole gained him the longest-lasting, mutually sincere friendship he'd had in decades, and a rent-free place to sleep during the day. Such a deal sounded too cozy, reminiscent of a gamble, really, with so much to lose. And like any experienced gambler, Cassidy knew the other shoe was bound to drop eventually.

On the _other_ hand, Granny had also taught him never to glare a Gift horse in the mouth - or was it bite the hand that fed ye? - so, Cassidy wasn't inclined to worry too much. Instead, he would bleed every ounce of enjoyment he could from the situation before his well of fortune ran dry, as was his wont.

"Well, would you lookit that!"

"What?"

"You're an Aries, ay? Accordin' to this here article, we're compatible."

Cassidy grinned, brandishing the magazine with the glee of a brat showing off his new toy. Even his lack of superstition couldn't supress the amusement of his discovery.

"Never pegged you as a Cosmo fan," snorted Jesse.

"Anything's better than leafing through the other reading material lying about." Cassidy shrugged, finding a nifty little page on tough stain removing remedies - have to file that one away for later. "Nicked it from that cheery organist you've got runnin' the joint."

Jesse smiled, cigarette clinging to his crooked lips. "Don't think stealing Emily's stuff is gonna endear her to you anytime soon."

"What're ya implyin'? She don't care for me company?" Cassidy tossed the magazine over his shoulder, the picture of affronted. "I am _shocked._ Shocked, and a tad insulted, for I've been nothing but an utmost gentleman since I dropped  into this piss-hole town!"

"You told her you were a dangerous drug addict dying for a fix."

"A harmless joke," Cassidy defended. "Not everyone gets my sense of humor, y'see."

Jesse chuckled, making it clear that _not everyone_ did not extend to him. The sense of commaderie between them was stifling in the thin length of space separating their knees, least from where Cassidy was sitting.

"'Sides, even if she weren't immune to my roguish charm, I reckon she'd have it out for me, anyway," he sniggered. "What with me comin' between her and her dear preacher."

Jesse nearly swallowed his cigarette, choking so hard that Cass had to thump him on the back to help right himself.

 _"Pardon?"_  he coughed. "That another joke?"

"Another - are ye fuckin' _kiddin'_ me?" Cassidy swiped the cigarette from his hands, taking a long hit, Lord give him strength for this stupidity.

"Ohhh, boyo. No, this explains it. No wonder she's in a foul mood when I try chattin' her up, wha' with her would-be beau's head so far up his arse he's staring at tonsils."

"Up yours," Jesse chortled. Then he sobered, his face contrite as a schoolboy's. Lord, where's a camera when you need it?

"You tellin' me that Emily has...what, has a _crush_ on me?"

A crush the size of Texas, yeah, that 'bout covers it. He should've showed padre the bookmarked Cosmo article about "snagging your wayward man," if this delicious reaction was any indication.

"For Christ's sake," Cassidy cackled. "Thought might just be playin' ignorant to spare the woman's feeling, or for professionalism, but turns out you're _that_ bloody oblivious."

"Look, I've had a helluva lot more on my mind to worry notice who may or may not be makin' eyes at me," Jesse grumbled, plucking out a fresh cigarette, while Cassidy scoffed in agreement. _That_ was true, otherwise he might've caught on to the appreciative glances Cassidy had been aiming at his legs and arse since their stay in the jailhouse.

"Riddle me this, then," Jesse huffed, the smoke curling around his chin like a wispy, hypnotizing dance. "Why would Emily's feelings for impact how she feels about _you?"_

Beaming faux innocence, Cassidy spread his hands. "We have been spending a lot of time together, Padre. Folks will talk."

Jesse hummed, mulling that over. "Suppose there's no helping that," he said, and nothing more, to Cassidy's slight disappointment. They sat in silence awhile, but the night always made him awake and restless, and he was quick to pick up the conversation again.

 _"Alright._ Color me curious: now that you've finally seen the light, whatcha gonna do about that admirer o' yours?"

"Nothin'," Jesse grunted.

"Really?" asked Cassidy, taken aback. Lonely man like the preacher - and any fool could see he was lonesome, even a self-serving bastard like Cass - he assumed he'd be jumping at the chance for any scrap of loving. "She's a comely lass. Got her head screwed on tight, tha's for sure. Could definitely keep you in line."

"She's a good woman," said Jesse warmly, with a sad twist to his lips.

"Too good for a bad man like you, ya mean?" 

Cassidy half-hoped his friend would reply, "can't think of shacking up with a sweet gumdrop like her, not when I'm too hot for you" or something to that extent. His fantasies, however, proved terribly far-fetched when the preacher only nodded, his eyes taking on that brooding hue. Now Cass would be hard-pressed to coax any fun out of him for the rest of the evening, especially the variety of _fun_ he had in mind.

But eh, a lad could dream, couldn't he?

*

*

*

*

Jesse Custer was good luck, bad luck, sinner and saint, all wrapped into one pretty little package that Cassidy unwrapped layer by layer, tearing into each new parcel with the fervor of a kid on Boxing Day.

He had developed a certain sense of entitlement to a portion of his preacher's time, namely, the hours of dinner and after. It had become a comfortable arrangement that went off without ceremony, formality or effort. Usually, anyway.

"Wha's all this, then?" Cassidy blinked at the array of take away bins littering the pew.

"Figure we can't sustain on an all liquor diet forever," Jesse replied wryly.

"Speak for yerself, mate," Cassidy scoffed. He sniffed the air, the tantalizing aroma collecting saliva beneath his tongue.

"Blimey, s'that Chinese? Out here in the middle of godforsaken nowhere?"

"What, they don't have delivery in that Dublin of yours?" Jesse quipped. Then, uncharacteristically self-conscious, "Your favorite, ain't it?"

"Aye," answered Cassidy. Grinning, like a shite-faced idiot, yet he couldn't seem to stop. "Didn't think you'd remember a minor detail like that."

He could've easily replaced the line with, Wasn't expecting a kindness to be paid my way. Or, Buying me supper first?

"Dig in," Jesse insisted in his normal tone, making Cass believe his earlier shyness might've been a fluke.

"How much do I owe ya?" he snorted, out of jest more than a willingness to pay (with money he didn't have).

Predictably, Jesse waved the debt away. Cass paid his keep with company, so they sat, ate and laughed, and delved into the whiskey anyhow, on Cassidy's word that it complimented the cuisine.

Hours fled by, the reddish-orange of evening exchanged for the deep indigo of the night, and the mood adjusted accordingly.

Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting an eerie, intimate light over the room. Cassidy couldn't help but admire the effect it had on his friend, the ends of his hair glowing silver.

Belatedly, Cass realized that the thread of conversation had been lost in the midst of his fanciful gazing, and he went to reclaim it, only to find Jesse watching him be watched.

"On second thought," he rasped, and though they had barely drunk a fourth of their usual intake, his cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink. "If you wanted to make it up to me...there is _something_ you could do."

"A quid pro quo, yeah? And here I thought you holy men gave out of pocket," Cassidy laughed. Jesse's flush increased, as if in apology, and before the preacher's nerve deserted him, Cassidy said, "No, go on, let's hear your price."

Confidence returning with gusto, Jesse unleashed that ole crooked smile of his his and asked for, "A kiss."

The request shot a thrill up his spine, short-circuiting his brain. Christ, it wasn't even dirty, practically boyish in nature. Thankfully, his libido was unhindered, perfectly content to take the lead and play along.

"Is that it?" he inquired, oozing smugness. "Already done! Consider my slate clean."

Jesse was struck dumb by this proclamation. 

"What?" he gaped, wracking his memory for the substance Cassidy spoke of. "When?" Jesse's eyes narrowed, slits of indignation boring into him. "When I was _drunk?"_

"'Course not," Cassidy replied snidely. "We Irishmen act by a code of honor. We're not British."

The preacher glared, unimpressed, and suddenly it was he who the schoolboy caught in a fib.

"Fine, if ya must know," Cassidy relented, "When I found ya unconscious that night we met and you wouldn't respond, I chivalrously attempted to rouse you with a kiss. See? Intentions pure as Mary on her wedding day."

"My hero," Jesse muttered flatly. "What the hell made you think of that?"

"Worked for that bloody prince, didnit?" Cassidy grumbled.

"You took advantage," said Jesse, affecting an air of self-righteousness. 

"I take what I want," Cassidy growled. He had meant for it to be a playful jibe, not a hoarse declaration, but the outcome struck a chord in both of them.

"Part of my honest, un-boring lifestyle."

"That so?" Jesse murmured, all low and breathy. Cass was already teetering on the brink, and that voice had him over the edge, when the preacher said, "And do you still? Want me?"

Cassidy's throat made a deep, vaguely threatening rumble, but it sounded nothing but yearning from his end.

Jesse smirked, shifting away from him, probably knowing what the distance did to Cass, the coy bastard.

"What're you waitin' for, then?" he demanded, half challenge, half invitation.

His wish was granted when Cassidy lunged, no further prompting necessary, mouth navigating to Jesse's at an impressive speed, garnering an appreciative gasp. He slammed him down on the cold, wooden pew and clambered on top, arms trapping the other man beneath him.

Cassidy took that moment to do what he'd desired to do since the beginning and wind his hands through that ridiculous, gorgeous hair. The dark strands slipped through his fingers, and he gave them a tug, testing, and was rewarded with a long, encouraging moan.

"Like that, luv?" he whispered into Jesse's ear, teasing at the lobe with his teeth. "A bit of pain with your pleasure?"

"Listening to you run your mouth is a _pain,"_ Jesse panted, groaning when Cass nipped under his chin in retaliation. "Why don't you goddamn do something instead?"

Jesse didn't understand what he was asking for, he truly didn't, thought Cassidy as he clamped down on himself, afraid of hurting the other man. "Oh, sweetheart," he chuckled, a husky echo of dark, sweet promise. "I'm happy to oblige."

Lucky for him, Jesse gave as good as he got, goading Cassidy into treating him nice an' rough.

Unlucky for him, it was clearer now than ever that this smartarse already had Cass wrapped around his little finger, for better or worse.

Lucky for him, Jesse didn't seem to realize he had Cassidy at his beck and call. Also lucky for him, this attraction was definitely requited, and his days of wet dreamin' about the saintly man in black were over.

Unlucky for him, once was never gonna be enough, he could already tell. Cassidy had a weakness for addictions, and this one, this one was as dangerous as any other.

Lucky for him, apparently Jesse had a kink for having his neck marked up. Or, christ, should that be unlucky, considering?

Pros and cons blended together in their haste to get into each other's pants. Too long he'd waited, too much beating around the bleedin' bush, if the way they both gasped out when his hand grasped at the preacher's backside, kneading the tender flesh.

Without missing a beat, Jesse pushed back into his hand, simultaneously lifting his hips and creating such delicious fiction against Cassidy's criminally clothed erection.

 _"Fuck,"_ Cassidy hissed. "You're too much. Not enough. C'mere."

That was the last coherent word outta either of 'em for a while.

*

*

*

*

Even when bad luck wasn't rearing its ugly head, dropping other shoes and causing loads of inconvenience, Cassidy had no problem scrounging up trouble of his own accord, no sir.

Thing was, just, intense bouts of sex tended to make a fella hungry; and for a vampire, that hunger sometimes translated into a more feral need for food. In the afterglow of tonight's satisfying rut, his blood howled in his ears as he lay there, inhaling the musky scent of their intertwined bodies, feeling steamed him from the inside out.

Coupled with the fact that he hadn't fed recently - spicy tuna roll was a poor substitute for live prey, and more's the pity for that - it had taken a fair amount of restraint from sinking his teeth too deep into the taut, bulging vein that had pulsed beneath his mouth. 

No doubt a mood killer, from Jesse's perspective.

So it was in the dead of night that Cass dragged himself away from the bed of the gorgeous man he'd just had the pleasure of fucking stupid to, as he assumed they say in Texas, russle up some grub.

Contrary to popular culture, Cassidy did not stalk the night searching for sustenance, a bare-Chester, Tarzan-like  hunter with a hard-on for YA heroines. This ain't Twilight, for Christ's friggin sake.

No, Cassidy was what you might term a scavenger. Whatever livestock, venison or critter he happened upon became his midnight snack, more often than not.

He walked across the dusty plain, cursing the empty barren wasteland that was Texas, until he finally stumbled across a small farmstead.

"Jesus, 'bout time." Cassidy rubbed his palms together in anticipation, the smell of fresh meat driving him mad. "So hungry I could eat a horse."

No whinnying from within the barn, craving be damned; however, there was a chorus of conspicuous oinks.

"That'll do, pig." Cassidy grinned, showing far too much teeth. Eh, not like the swine knew any better.

He'd drained a whole raw porkchop, planning to move onto seconds when he heard a warning click, stiffening like a fox caught in the henhouse.

Of bloody fucking course, there stood a hapless hick, shotgun clenched within his trembling hands. 

"W-What... _the fuck?!"_ the farmer croaked. 

"Oi, calm down!" Cassidy placated, raising the Vulcan salute. "I come in peace."

He saw how that sort of statement might clash with his bloodstained gob; and by the way the man's face tightened with terror and disbelief, he probably thought the same.

"S-Stay away from me y-you - _demon,_ or wherever the hell you're from!"

"Dublin, actually," sniffed Cassidy. "And I'm no more a demon than Tom Cruise is a preacher."

In a last ditch attempt at an olive branch, Cassidy smiled, all peaches and sunshine. "Now, any chance we can square this over a pint, and keep what you think you've seen between us and God?"

He glanced upwards, staring imploringly at the man, whose expression went slack in contemplation. Perhaps he'd managed to charm him into reason.

Then the bloke fired on him, the bullet cracking through the air, missing by a mere hair. Cassidy sighed, swerved away from the next shot, before he kicked the gun from the startled squirrel of a man and tackled him to the ground.

Well, clearly he wasn't in a secret sharing mood, and fact was, Cass (nor Jesse) could afford for someone to let the cat out of the bag. 

"Real sorry about this, mate," he said regretfully, hardly an apology at all. "I usually don't lead with my stomach, but."

He plunged into the thin flesh of his neck, tore into his jugular with animal abandon. The man in his arms made a garbled of a scream that descended into a frenzied buzz as the hot rush of blood ran down his throat, and he gulped it down, instinctive as a babe sucked at its mum's teet.

Long after the man had ceased twitching, Cassidy released him, breathing heavily through his nose. Not from exertion, but exhilaration. Cass was in his element, covered in another man's blood, his belly hot and full of life.

"I _did_ promise," he told the corpse, dully, as he slunk past the man and into the barn.

Surely there must be a shovel stored around here somewhere.

*

*

*

*

He skulked back to be just before daybreak. Having to clean up another mess and dig another grave, all before the sun rose, Cassidy was ready to sleep until dusk. Bugger anyone, vampire hunting fanatics and noisy locals alike, who dared stop him.

Jesse twitched as the mattress shifted, groan muffled by the pillow, _Cassidy's_ pillow, which had been pilfered in his absence.

"Thou shalt not steal, and thou shalt _stay on yer side of the bed,_ ya ruddy thief," he grumbled as he reclined, made himself comfortable and - what the hell? - dragged the padre close, stubbly cheeks sliding against his bare chest. Jesse's nose twitched, perhaps irritated by the lingering scent of blood.

Maybe he was used to falling asleep to that smell, for he immediately drifted off again, and didn't stir.

Cassidy felt a snort bubbling up his throat.

"Like I said, we're compatible," he murmured, shutting his eyes as the first ray of light filtered through the crack in the curtains. "Match made in Hell."

*

*

*

*

Laying low was Cassidy's primary objective for the time being, but Annville itself was so removed from the radar, he could spare a night out at the local watering hole without fear of being detected, couldn't he?

Mostly, it was an excuse to get pissed in public, and a favor to Jesse, who had an appointment with his ex-girlfriend. Not that Jesse was adverse to hanging out with his her alone; moreover, she had a business proposal that he wanted no part of, and he expressed his desire to have reinforcements along to prevent him from falling prey to her wily determination.

Jesse trusting him for support was flatterin' (if not ill-suited) enough, but like hell would Cass pass up the chance for a night at the pub. Plus, as an added bonus, he would finally meet the infamous Tulip O'Hare.

Feisty spitfire, from what he'd gathered, and Cassidy was looking forward to seeing her in action.

Tagging along, much to his confusion, was Emily. 

By some actual grace of God, Jesse found a sitter for her three kiddies, freeing her for the night. An act of goodwill if there ever was one - what Cassidy couldn't figure was why he suggested she come out with them, since her crush on him did not appear to have diminished any.

Jesse wasn't obtuse about it anymore, either, and certainly he couldn't expect Cassidy to behave himself and not steal the occasional bum squeeze between shots, or yank him away for a snog in the filthy restroom.

And he couldn't fathom the preacher extending the invitation out of cruelty. So he didn't see the point, then, unless it was a subtle and gentle hint that his interests lie elsewhere, as well as a chance to introduce her to an eligible dating pool. 

The sun had already receded by the time they left. With the establishment in sight, Emily went on ahead, while Jesse hung back to keep an eye out for his old flame. Cassidy stayed by him, finishing off a smoke.

Which he almost spit out when, out of the goddamn blue, he spotted two familiar blokes rounding the corner.

"Fuck," he whispered, because those dolts he'd taken care of with the chainsaw, the same vigilantes who had nearly sliced Jesse in half in their quest  for Cassidy's neck, were standing in the hub of Annville, hale and whole.

After Cassidy distinctly recalled hacking them to bits and burying them six feet under.

"Fuck, fuck, fucking how, what am I gonna fucking-"

Cassidy ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the roots. What next, that farmer going to pop out of his grave? He would have to improvise, _shite-fucking damn it,_ because they were headed his way.

His eyes darted around, searching for inspiration, and were drawn, as they often were these days, to Jesse. And, rather than be a fatal distraction, an idea sprung to mind.

 _Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable._ Heard that in a movie once, hadn't he? Not that these gentlemen were people, evidently, but they were people-shaped and that would have to do.

"Luv, c'mere a minute," Cassidy urged, dragging Jesse off to the side.

"What is it?"

"Kiss me."

 _"Now?"_ To his credit, Jesse sounded more skeptical than reluctant. 

Normally, he didn't mind their cat-and-mouse, the back-and-forth flirting, but out of the corner of his eye he caught those two supposed-to-be-dead suits rounding the corner with the sheriff in tow, and dicking around was no longer an option. Taking Jesse's face in his hands, Cassidy smashed their lips together.

The preacher made a noise of surprise, and tried to protest before melting into his ministrations, opening wide. Cassidy crowded him against the faded brick, hands scrabbling for purchase as those lips responded in kind.

He almost forgot the whole point of this diversion, busy exploring that hot, willing mouth with rough swipes of his tongue. Until, regaining enough sense for the both of them, Jesse pulled away and gave him a firm shove.

"Mind explaining what the hell all that was?" he questioned, his voice bemused (and a wee bit winded, much to Cassidy's smug delight), but his gaze severe.

"Just can't keep my hands off ya," said Cassidy, smirking lecherously. With a quick glance around, he saw that they were safe, the trio out of sight.

Snorting, Jesse shook his head. "You ain't trying to start trouble, are you?"

Following the jerk of his chin, Cassidy saw Emily, whom he'd misplaced in all the commotion, hanging outside the bar. If she had seen anything, she was doing a fine job of hiding it.

Beside of her, a petite goddess of a woman was unabashedly watching them, and smirked when she caught Cassidy's eye, shooting him a finger gun salute while flashing her middle one at Jesse. Cass instantly liked the cut of her jib.

Jesse cleared his throat, reminding Cass that he had yet to reply.

"No, padre. No trouble," he swore, as was becoming routine.

And it was in that moment that, a tad disgruntledly, Cassidy realized that those nasty ole  _promises_ he generally steered clear of had wound up biting him in the arse anyway.


End file.
